Moments Like That
by Harmonic Friction
Summary: The Whipping Boy, by Sid Fleischman. Six 100 word essays on the relationship between Prince Horace and Jemmy, postbook. Lime. Slash. Slight tort.


**Disclaimer: **I apologize to Sid Fleischman—but this had to be accomplished. Characters belong to he (& Max Brindle, grin).

**Verse: **Jemmy and Horace are part of the _"Prince Brat and the Whipping Boy" _(film) and _The Whipping Boy_ (novel) universe. Based upon the looks and ways of movieverse, but with the same story line as bookverse.

**Warning: **It's a lime. It's slash. It's Horace/Jemmy, to be exact.

**Summary: **Six one-hundred word essays portraying the sexual relationship between Prince Brat and his ex whipping boy, Jemmy. Post-movie; post-book.

* * *

**Moments like That**

* * *

**Mean Knot**

* * *

"Jemmy-From-the-Streets, you are _much _too reserved for someone who is supposed to be wild!" Horace declared, tightening the whip around the boy's wrists until little cuts appeared. He slung one leg over the boy's buttocks and laughed aloud when Jemmy gave a short murmur of protest. Horace narrowed his placid eyes and firmly rested his girth against the boy's backside. "Oh you _love it, really. _I _told _you you'd be yelping and bellowing next time, didn't I?" 

Jemmy shook his head insistently, but the bonds were tight. Prince Horace could not read or write. But he

made a mean knot.

* * *

**Poetry

* * *

**

Prince Brat ran his tongue over the whipping boy's ear lobe. _"You taste scared,"_ he said, satisfied, and Jemmy-From-the-Streets could not deny the poetic nature of the statement.

"But I'm not," Jemmy spat, cursing himself inwardly for ruining Horace's wickedly brilliant observation.

"You _aren't_, hmm," Horace shrugged, in a tone reminiscent of an adult finding a child to be stupidly sweet.

"I'm **not**!" shot Jemmy, and shifted _hard_, making Prince Brat fall a little to the side.

Horace found his bearing again, and smirked. "No matter what, you can't go far and you know it."

Jemmy nodded and sighed, annoyed.

* * *

**Hurt

* * *

**

"Say you're sorry," was Horace's demand, but Jemmy set his jaw.

Blood was appearing in the thin, whipped slits of his arms, his face was pinkening against the sheet, little crimson ripples flowing. Jemmy's dark, flat bangs contrasted with Horace's auburn curls. Jemmy paled. Horace blushed with anticipation.

"_Say you're sorry and I won't hurt you, that's all!" _Horace commanded angrily, tightening his grip on Jemmy's throat and waiting.

But the silence was thick enough to fry like a slab of salt pork.

"Hurt me," said Jemmy. "You'd go back on your word anyhow."

Horace brightened. "Right you are, slave."

* * *

**Moments Like That

* * *

**

What followed was an exploration, a test.

"_Like Leonardo Divinci, is that what your friend Peckwit would say?" _smacked Horace against Jemmy's ear.

"_You're only jealous, he's a nice man, a good man," _Jemmy yowled back.

"_You speak of jealousy and you make me jealous as you speak," _snapped Horace. "A **good **man! A **kind **man! Then go _bed _with** him**, go on!"

"You are _so difficult, gaw! I din't mean—I wouldn't—"_

"_Didn't. Wouldn't." _

"What?" Jemmy strained to look up.

"Nothing," Horace shrugged," just listening to your inflections."

Jemmy smiled. _'Moments like that make 'im tolerable.'_

"Please me?"

* * *

**Ran Down

* * *

**

With the softly spoken words, Jemmy, as always, complied to the will of the spoiled brat whom he loved. Did Horace love him? He couldn't tell—it was an attachment, certainly, but it was different, Horace desired male figures to make up for his father. Sort of sick, maybe, but Jemmy was filling a void.

_Lit-er-ally._

They changed. His hands ran down Horace's sides.

"_Faster."_

"_Slower."_

"_Oh, longer!"_

Jemmy was far more gentle than Horace ever was, he decided if he was the male figure, he wasn't going to take.

Horace crossed his arms and braced himself against the mattress.

* * *

**Wise

* * *

**

Outside, the sky was pale, the sun was nearly up.

Jemmy, at the ending point, had to clap his hand over Horace's mouth, for fear that the King was going to become wise to them. Horace never worried, but Jemmy always did. After all, it was he who would be punished. He who would be hung.

Spent, he fell to Horace's side. "Happy now?"

"Never," the prince said honestly, and Jemmy was glad that Horace had learned the ways of realism. Things were never easy, but it was good, healthy, to do what thrilled them.

What else did they have?

* * *


End file.
